on the road...again

Not much to add really,more of the same now that we are on the famous Route 40 we're up for it all.
that includes all the live stock, there are photos of goats somewhere as well.
Then come around the corner and got hit by sand, being 2 up made for a brief moment, but luckily it held together,and finished with a good result

And so to the end of yet another day in another god knows where camp site, cause we can't afford the $$ to stay in a roofed accommodation....(man it was dismal, with howling camp dog too,cath)
Caths been writing a dailyish diary .....its different from behind......

The next night landed us in another campsite ( unfortunately, the name of it is lost along with the page we ripped out of the book), but it was between San Rafael and San Martin de Los Andes.
The road to this place was a mixed bag of curves and undulating terrain, which was a pleasure to ride until the wind picked up and hit us in one continuous gust, getting more arctic with every km. The town with no name came as a welcome retreat, and thinking we might find a cheapish hotel or hostel for the night, knocked on the door of every inn, like latter day Mary and Josephs. Unlike the fable, we could find room but not at THAT price! And, so it came about we ended up in what has become affectionately known as the 'howling dog'campsite.
By the time we rode in it was becoming dusk, and we were pretty chilled,not relaxed you understand,
I watched Mark pitch the tent in the high wind, under the very tall poplar tree next to the busy gravel road and beside the camp dog's bed, with reservations.
My raised eyebrow, was too subtle, and by the time we had cooked and fed the grateful dog our burnt eggs,freezing cold and looking every inch like a bad tempered womble, wrapped in thermal layers and bike jacked still, i went to bed rattled.
The trucks trundled past, the wind did not blow the tree on top of us,much to Marks smug satisfaction(russian roulette, springs to mind here,'you see, i knew the tree wouldnt fall and kill us' after the event. But beyond all that, and not being nearly warm enough in the tent with the emotional/physical chasm between us, the cute,scrounging camp dog,also moonlights with his alter ego as shortlegged,howling wolf. His party act(being a short dog with syndrome)was to jump onto the concrete bbq tables,start with some rapid fire staccato barks and end in one long howl.
Thats it, it was off to the night watchman who watched amused as i stomped up to him dressed to the nines in thermals and biker boots,smiled at me when he caught the meaning of the word d.o.g, and thought i was suggesting it was a lovely pooch.
Hmmph,the cut throat action finally got it through to him,that the pooch's life was on theline